


The Oak Kin

by foxwedding



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also kinky sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, F/M, Like from Greek Mythology, M/M, So much pining is going to happen, Stiles is a wood nymph/dryad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwedding/pseuds/foxwedding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe every other member of Derek's wolf-clad leather committee is totally useful and looking fresh-to-death.  Whatever- Stiles Stilinski has got his own things going on.  Like, big things.</p><p>In which Stiles comes into some interesting family heritage, handles himself boss-like, and still comes out saving everyone's asses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was wasted. Absolutely, completely, beautifully intoxicated as he dipped and gyrated to the pounding, incessant beat of house techno. Scott, to his left, was equally trashed, with an ale bottle dangling from his fingers as he whooped and hollered over the heavy bass. The homecoming after party at Lydia Martin’s abode was truly a sight to behold: the first floor was packed nearly shoulder to shoulder with footballers, lacrosse players, cheerleaders and the like, all jumping and twisting enthusiastically to the frantic beat. Frenzied yelling and drunken laughter filled in the space between bass beats, raising the volume level to near deafening heights. Red solo cups littered the tables, couches, and stairways, crunching underfoot as oblivious dancers flailed away. Up against the walls, pairs of people were making out and grinding down feverishly in various states of undress.

Tucked back into a niche, Scott, Stiles, and Isaac were bobbing away, enjoying spiked punch and trying to intermittently converse over the noise.

“-total shitshow!” Scott exclaimed gleefully before taking a long pull from his bottle.

“What?” Stiles could barely be bothered to listen to Scott’s drunken musings when he felt _this_ good. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, wiping droplets of sweat from his heated skin. It was so hot and packed it was actually hard to breathe, coupled with the fact that whenever a breeze flicked by from the back porch, it was laden with cigarette smoke and the musky scent of weed.

Stiles brought his head back up and opened his eyes- a tall, muscled boy across the crowd was openly staring at him. Stiles didn’t recognize him as a student of Beacon Hills High- maybe he was a friend of Lydia’s? The boy was quite good looking, especially so when he was watching Stiles as though Stiles was a tasty treat for a ravenous predator. Normally, that kind of attention from such an attractive specimen would make Stiles flustered and awkward. But, right now, with the booze taking the edge off of all his inhibitions, Stiles reveled in the attention. With half-lidded eyes, he smiled coyly and bit his lip in what he hoped was an enticing manner, letting the music continue to pull his body to and fro.

“I said, this party! It’s a mess!” Scott repeated, evidently not noticing the minute instance of flirtatious interaction Stiles was attempting to have.

“I know, right?” Stiles agreed, pulling his gaze away from tall, dark, and handsome to glance at Scott, who had one arm looped around Isaac’s waist and one knee between the golden curled boy’s thighs. Isaac, mostly sober on account of agreeing to be the DD, laughed softly and allowed Scott to sidle up against him. The two boys proceeded to have their own private conversation, voices low and foreheads almost pressed together. Stiles was taken aback slightly.

 _Well that’s an interesting development_ , he thought with an eyebrow raised. When he glanced back at the crowd, Stiles found, to his dismay, that the attractive boy was no where to be seen. He sighed and couldn’t help the pit of disappointment that settled in his stomach.

Over from the kitchen counter where Lydia sat, cross legged and commanding worship from a pack of surrounding guys, Allison came bouncing over to the trio. She giggled slyly at Scott and Isaac, eyeing their closeness with extreme interest. Inserting herself into the circle, she smiled fondly at Stiles and touched his arm in a gesture of friendship. Allison’s mood elicited a smile of his own from Stiles. She offered him a sip from her cup, which he took immediately and gratefully, as if he needed more to drink, but whatever.

“I just made out with Lyds,” she announced proudly, with no small amount of giggling and stumbling. Stiles’s eyebrows raised almost to his hairline, and he was irrevocable regretful that he missed that little show.

“Hot!” Stiles exclaimed while laughing.

“Whoa,” Scott breathed, clearly on board with this turn of events. Tossing his empty bottle to the side, he looped his other arm around Allison and tugged her into his ultra-private-exclusive circle jerk with Isaac. The trio seemed to transport to some other, private level of intimacy, and Stiles immediately felt out of place, like he was intruding on another group’s private affair.

“I’m just gonna go dance over there...” Stiles muttered to no one in particular, as Scott was busy encouraging Isaac and Allison to make out. Slumping slightly- hey, he was allowed to be just a tad envious that Scott wanted Isaac to be his super-exclusive-make out bro instead of Stiles- even though Scott and Stiles were like brothers and ew no, never- and pressed closer towards the center of the dancing crowd.

Danny, shirtless and dripping with sweat, was grinding down madly on a brawny blond boy plastered to his back. He caught Stiles eye and smiled broadly.

“Stiles, man! How you doing?” Danny slurred jovially. Stiles grinned back and took note of this unique occasion in which Danny wasn’t totally annoyed to have to interact with him. Danny turned his head to yell at his partner over the beat.

“This is Stiles, babe. Fuckin’ love this kid!” _Huh_ , Stiles snorted, _if only_. 

“Seen your moves over in the corner!” Blondie grinned over at him and winked. “You with those guys?” He pointed back towards where Stiles came from.

Stiles’s gaze followed his finger and oh holy shit Scott and Isaac were making out with Allison gyrating between them. His eyed widened comically.

“Uh maybe? They’re my ride?” He responded with concern. Oh hell no, that ride home was going to be so mad awkward- oh god what if Allison came along and then it was the three of them dropping Stiles off at his house before driving off to have kinky threesomes that Stiles never wanted to hear about?

Danny laughed delightedly.

“Come’ere,” he demanded, tugging at Stiles, “lemme see your moves.” At once, Blondie removed himself from Danny’s back and took up position behind Stiles. With Danny in front, Stiles was sandwiched between the two- and it was awesome. More friendly than overtly sexual, Danny and his mantoy taught Stiles how to properly get low. And he must have been doing something right, because every now and then the three of them received encouraging catcalls- many of them sounding like they were from Lydia, though it was impossible to know over the music.

Slick with sweat and blood pumping with endorphins and alcohol, Stiles wasn’t exactly sure when it was that the attractive stranger from earlier showed his face again. Or how Stiles ended up dancing with him while Danny and Blondie excused themselves, no doubt to hook up in the bathroom. With his inhibitions out the window and self-awareness hazy, Stiles felt liberated in the naughtiest way possible. The stranger grabbed his hips and guided Stiles’s ass on his clothed hard-on. Driven almost completely by instinct, Stiles gyrated down and tilted his head back to capture a messy kiss, his heart beating out of his chest. The stranger grasped his neck to keep Stiles’s head in position to continue the kiss. With one hand on his neck to command the make out session, and the other on his hips, guiding the grind, it was the filthiest thing Stiles had ever experienced- which wasn’t saying much since he was a virgin, but still.

They must have danced for a while, because when Stiles had sobered up enough to really take in his surroundings again, a lot of the crowd had dispersed and left. With the party winding down, Stiles excused himself from the stranger.

“I need to go find my friends- they’re my ride, but you were like, really awesome and-yeah.” The stranger frowned but let Stiles go. Blushing profusely and berating himself for his own awkwardness, he searched the house for signs of his friends. Finally, reaching the front porch and realizing that, yes, in fact, those assholes _had_ left without him, Stiles slumped onto the porch and tried to will his surroundings to stop spinning.

The wind was howling in short, icy bursts, billowing up leaves from the empty street and causing the awning to creak and groan in its wake. A pervading sense of loneliness, coupled with an increasing sense of something ever-lurking in his periphery, did wonders to help Stiles sober up. He knew that feeling- goddamn if there was anything at all he’d learned from his escapades with the supernatural, it was that if he thought there was something out there, there usually was. If he was inexplicably scared, there was usually a damn good reason why.

A warm hand came down on his shoulder, startling the teen.

“You need a ride?” Of course it was Mr. Dancing Pants from earlier. Did he follow him out here? He grinned down at Stiles with a lit cigarette hanging between his lips- red and bitten from before. Stiles blushed and subconsciously rubbed his own lips in response.

“Um.. I really shouldn’t-” 

“Just a ride- I promise.” The boy made a crossing motion with his finger over his heart and exhaled a lungful of smoke. He smiled oh-so-charmingly down at Stiles and Stiles sighed. What the heck- it was rare for someone to take such a keen interest in his well-being. Stiles stumbled into the stranger’s car, virtually climbing into the passenger seat and fumbling with the seatbelt- jeez he was still way drunker than he thought.

The stranger glanced over at Stiles once, taking in his prone, drunken form, and at once sped off out of the neighborhood.

“Are you like, even sober enough to drive?” Stiles wondered confusedly.

“Enough.” The reply was terse enough to put Stiles on edge and he refrained from attempting to make more conversation, which was a disappointment- Stiles thought of himself as a great conversationalist, and he was wasting his chance to impress this good-looking stranger into asking him out on a date. Or something. Outside, the wind howled in such a peculiar way- almost like someone was singing. Was the radio on? Glancing at the silent radio, Stiles realized the boy driving hadn’t even asked him where he lived.

“Uh- I live closer to downtown.” Stiles announced, peering through the dark window trying to gauge their location. The appeared to be on some sort of route through a forested area. Maybe the preserve? 

“Um, this isn’t even close to the city- in fact I think we’re going in the opposite direction. Dude?” Stiles glanced over at his driver. The stranger kept his gaze on the road and didn’t reply. Stiles’s heart started to quicken. Something wasn’t right with this situation- it was all wrong and off somehow.

“Hey. Hey dude? What even is your name?” Still no reply. The car pulled into a shaded grove off the beaten track and slowed to a stop. Stiles wasn’t an idiot- his father was the sheriff, after all. His hands started to quiver with fear and the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

“Why are we here?” Stiles asked cautiously. 

“I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other a little better. Somewhere more private.” The stranger’s inflection was even and deceivingly calm. 

The first vestiges of a pounding headache emerged at the base of Stiles’s skull- goddamn it, probably the impending hangover. He felt sick.

“That’s great dude- wanna tell me your name? You know, normally people go out for coffee or something to get to know each other better- doesn’t that sound like a great, normal idea? Coffee? In a public space?” This inquiry was met with the telltale click of the driver unfastening his seatbelt. 

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Stiles looked around for something-anything- that he could use as a weapon. Stiles just about had a heartattack when the stranger grasped one side of his neck and pulled it to his face, breathing deeply. 

“You smell so good,” he groaned breathily. “Absolutely divine.”

Stiles started to giggle nervously, unfastening his seatbelt in order to move closer to the passenger side door. As the stranger kept creeping forward, trapping Stiles against the door, Stiles reverted back to his surefire method for repelling people- babbling.

“That’s so great, I’m glad you think I smell good, because Scott- um, that’s my best friend who probably isn’t even looking for me right now, oh shit why would I say that out loud- doesn’t think so and this has just been really fun but I don’t feel well- Let’s call it a night and-”

The stranger quickly pressed him up against the car door and spread his legs, settling in between.

“I just want a taste,” he murmured against Stiles’s neck, as he pried open the button of Stiles’s jeans. Oh fucking hell- the stranger pulled back and Stiles could clearly see pupils so dilated that the stranger’s eyes literally looked like two black pits.

“What the fuck?! Stop!” Stiles yelled as he scrambled and clawed behind him trying to find the door handle. The stranger chuckled and pressed close.

“Come on, baby. Gonna ride you so hard- just like I promised. God, I bet that ass is tight- wanted you on the dancefloor.” The stranger pressed tighter between Stiles’s legs and leaned in for a bruising kiss when Stiles’s hand found the door handle, twisted, and threw as much of weight back as he possibly could. The door flung open and Stiles tumbled out of the car, scrambling backwards to put space between him and this fucking rapist lunatic.

The freezing wind was howling so loudly and violently that Stiles couldn’t hear the stranger’s cursing as he escaped his grasp. Looking around frantically, Stiles didn’t recognize this part of the woods at all- shit where the fuck was he? The trees above him groaned and swayed and Stiles was hit with sudden panic about the possibility of a tree coming down on him. Struggling to stand, the furious wind swept dirt and crackling leaves into his face and eyes. With the wind consistently pushing him over and his eyes momentarily blinded, Stiles stumbled blindly away from the car, praying that he wouldn’t trip or knock into anything.

Evidently, he wasn’t fast enough. Two hands grabbed him roughly from behind and threw him to the hard ground. Struggling against the stranger on the forest floor, Stiles succeeded in acquiring enough of an upper hand to crawl a few feet away but then the stranger caught his ankle. He began to manuveur towards Stiles, but was suddenly pulled back by some unseen force. The look of angry triumph on the stranger’s face was quickly replaced with frustrated surprise when he turned to see a gnarled tree root wrapped around his own ankle. The stranger’s attempts at tugging his foot free from the root were hindered as the ground held fast, refusing to break. 

Furious and mad with lust, the stranger instead dragged Stiles towards him by his ankle. Kicking with his feet to try to slow the process, a subtle, underground rumbling caught Stiles’s attention. An earthquake? The ground beneath Stiles began to shake violently and all at once several large boulders broke the surface of the ground. Springing up from the depths like a buoy from water, and spraying loose dirt and rocks everywhere, one boulder surfaced just between he and the stranger, ripping the other man from his tree root trap and tossing him back towards his own car.

The wind continued to howl and race, the ground continued to shake, albeit less violently, and the trees continued to groan, their branches quivering frantically in the wind. For one brief moment, Stiles and the stranger made eye contact. The expression of utter horror and rage that the stranger displayed was unusually satisfying to Stiles- not as if Stiles has even been able to fight off this man on his own or anything. The stranger hobbled to his car and spat out the word, “freak” as he sped away, leaving Stiles alone in the dark woods.

Stiles waited until his breathing returned to normal before heaving himself up from the ground and surveying the scene. Fuck, everything was still spinning, because of course he was still fucking drunk. Strangely, the ground stilled and the wind began to quiet as Stiles began to step around the scene. Fishing in his pocket for his cell, he passed by the boulders, odd in their formation.

“Well that was oddly fortuitous,” Stiles mused to no one in particular, and fiddled with his phone. 

No service. Naturally. Fuck, this night was so weird.

Stiles let the strong winds guide him aimlessly. He was just so tired and thirsty and cold, not willing to fight the winds when he wasn’t even sure which direction he should head. The sky lightened as the night passed, and soon Stiles realized deliriously that he was in a more recognizable part of the woods. He sped up tiredly, stumbling towards that familiar burnt-out wreckage of a house. Pounding on the door with as much strength as he could muster, he was only able to breathe out a relieved, “Derek,” when Derek Hale opened the door before Stiles passed out onto his chest.

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Please review! I love constructive feedback!


	2. Chapter 2

When Stiles awoke he immediately wished he were dead. Swaddled in blankets that made him sticky with sweat and suffering a pounding hangover headache, he put off opening his eyes until he was absolutely sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep this ungodly feeling off. Opening his eyes and wincing away from the bright morning (afternoon?) sun that intensified the his already painful headache, Stiles looked around absently and noted that he was in Derek’s house. In fact, he was in Derek’s bed. Ugh, how embarrassing.

He struggled to dislodge himself from the heavy blankets for several minutes, giving up briefly in the middle of the battle, before sitting up. Oh god, big mistake, Stiles realized as his body lurched with a rising rush of nausea. Resisting the compulsion to vomit all over Derek’s room- it had that chic distressed look, sort of Industrial Revolution meets homeless werewolf, which Stiles thought complemented Derek’s dazzling personality all too well- Stiles managed to fall from the bed and crawl his way over to his dirty sneakers, tossed carelessly into one corner. Which reminded him, as he scanned down his body, that yep, the rest of him was fully dressed, thank god.

After endeavoring to put on and tie his shoes, Stiles lay down momentarily on the cool wooden floor, trying to alleviate both his headache and nausea. Which is about the time that Derek walked in.

Derek stepped slowly into the room, leaning lazily against the doorframe and holding a bowl of cereal in one hand. _Goddamn it, still looking as suave and godlike as ever_ , thought Stiles bitterly as he curled into fetal and groaned miserably. Stiles glared at Derek, who responded with a blank face as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Derek announced carelessly, between bites of breakfast. “I don’t even know how you managed to get your drunk ass out here without a car. Alive.”

“Gosh Derek, your compassion and hospitality are rivaled by no one,” Stiles croaked- mother of god, his mouth tasted like something died in it. “Bathroom...”

Derek gestured down the hallway behind him, but made no effort to help Stiles up. Grumbling and off-balance, Stiles heaved himself up and managed to find the bathroom. Which was fairly normal looking and mostly clean. He leaned down and drank straight from the sink tap, trying to quench his parched throat without drinking enough to make it come back up. Subsequently, he squeezed a sizable amount of Derek’s toothpaste onto his index finger and proceeded to brush his teeth with said digit. Who ever said he wasn’t resourceful?

With both hands on either side of the sink, Stiles straightened up and looked into the mirror, examining himself. There were dark hollows under his eyes from lack of restful sleep and small cuts along his bruised and dirty face from the scuffle with that stranger in the woods.

The visceral reminder of the previous night jolted Stiles, and he took in several deep breaths to slow his quickening heart. Shit, that had totally happened.

He examined the cuts along his cheekbones with careful, prodding fingers, hissing when he pressed into sensitive bits. Light bruises on his wrist also caught his eye- apparently left from ungentle hands. Running a washcloth under cool water, Stiles tried to gingerly wipe the dirt and crusted blood from his face. Goddamn it, this was always the kind of shit that seemed to happen to only him. He fiercely blinked back tears. Was is too much to ask for some nice guy or gal to watch movies with and smooch on and not crush his heart, soul, or body? Stiles swallowed harshly once, wrung out the towel and hung it back on its rung. Whatever- he was over it, self-pity party done. Stiles opened the bathroom, prepared to make a run for the front door, and walked straight into Derek’s solid form, nearly knocking some of the milk from his cereal bowl.

“Fucking hell, Derek,” he muttered, rubbing the tip of his nose. Derek continued to munch away on his cereal with a decidedly dispassionate expression.

“So... thanks for letting me stay here and, you know, making sure I didn’t die or whatever in my sleep. We should do this again sometime- and not that this hasn’t been sufficiently awkward or anything, but I’m gonna just go...” Stiles trailed off as he side-stepped Derek and made his way down the stairs.

Derek caught his elbow as Stiles opened the front door.

“Stiles,” He warned.

“What?” Stiles replied at once, letting his annoyance mask how much he did not want to have a conversation about the previous night. Derek gave him an incredulous look.

“What the fuck happened last night?! You showed up at dawn and passed the fuck out on my porch.”

“Well I don’t know, Derek. I was drunk.” Stiles quipped evasively. Derek’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Hey- quit it! Alright there was party. Scott and Isaac forgot they were supposed to take me home. I wandered into the woods. Ended up here. Thats all. Nothing. Happened.”

“Stiles!” Derek barked, becoming impatient.

“I just told you what happened! Let me the fuck go, Derek!” Stiles demanded, his voice beginning to tinge with hysteria. God, he just needed some time to himself without people trying to beat up on him.

At once, Derek dropped his elbow with an look of mild concern that quickly melted back into his usual apathetic expression. He brought a hand up to finger a spot on the side of Stiles’s neck.

“That’s an awfully dark bite mark for ‘nothing happened.’”

Stiles jumped back and slapped his own hand over his neck. Shit, had that fucker _bit_ him?! God, his life. He rubbed at his temples to try and soothe the headache that was returning full force. And either Derek had sensed Stiles’s distress or he was feeling particularly charitable because he left the room, came back with his car keys, and announced he was giving the teen a ride home.

“You don’t need to do that...” Stiles argued weakly.

“Shut up and get in my car.” Derek demanded tiredly. Stiles snorted.

“Uh uh, I no longer get into cars with strange men. And you, sir, are by far the strangest.”

At that, Derek shot Stiles such a bewildered look that Stiles shut up and leapt into the passenger seat without another word. The car ride was tense and silent, but not in a frightening way. Derek slowed to a stop right outside the sheriff’s house.

“Um, thanks,” Stiles muttered awkwardly and motioned to open the door.

“Wait.” Derek said suddenly. “Um, it’s just... can I.. let me see your wrist.”

Stiles was taken aback. Derek? Asking for something rather than just taking? He cautiously held out his wrist, forgetting the bruises he’d noticed there earlier.

Derek gently rolled up the sleeves, taking note of the bruises, but not mentioning them. He lifted Stiles’s wrist to his nose, ever so gingerly, Stiles’s fair skin brushing against the tips of Derek’s nose and lips. Derek inhaled once, quickly, and then dropped Stiles’s arm like it had burn him.

“Rude!” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek cleared his throat. “You, um.. you smell a little different.” His voice was hoarse. Stiles bristled. 

“Different good or different bad?”

“Just- different!” Derek replied, visibly frustrated. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, Sourwolf. Thanks for the ride. Later.” Slamming the car door unnecessarily forcefully behind him, Stiles dragged himself up the stairs, nearly tripped on some overgrown brush, and closed the front door behind him. He watched Derek drive away through the peephole before sagging against the door and sliding down to the floor, knees to his chest.

Sheriff Stilinski came around the corner, doughnut in hand. He froze guiltily when he saw his son sitting against the front door.

“Stiles- I didn’t realize you were home- I thought you were still at Scott’s.”

“What is that? Right there in your hand?” Stiles asked accusingly.

“For Christ’s sake, Stiles, I’ve been sticking to your health regiment all week. Give your old man have a break, huh?” The sheriff responded, taking an enormous bite of the pastry, just in case Stiles was about to confiscate it. Wiping his hands on his jeans, the sheriff continued. “Well, I’m going to go mow the lawn and trim the bushes- they’ve been growing like hell lately.”

As he passed by Stiles to exit into the front yard, he stopped his son with a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You alright, son?” He asked, concerned.

“What? Me? Oh yeah, totally dandy, one-hundred percent.” Stiles attempted a smile, which must have not reached his eyes because the sheriff frowned and turned fully to face his son. He looked over Stiles’s bruised face.

“What happened Stiles? I thought you were with Scott last night. Did you two get into a fight or something?”

“Naw, just a scuffle at a party we were at. You know, protecting Allison’s honor and whatnot,” Stiles joked and internally winced. Jeez, Allison would _kill_ Stiles if she ever heard those words coming out of his mouth. As if Allison needed someone else to protect her, let alone her honor.

“Alright, well you know you can always talk to me if you need help or... just to talk...” His father meant well, but Christ were the two of them shitty at conveying feelings.

“I know, I know, Dad.”

The sheriff cleared his throat gruffly and motioned to the front door.

“I’m gonna just..” He side-stepped Stiles and left to examine the yard, but not before ruffling Stiles’s hair like his son was six again.

Stiles sighed and heaved himself upstairs into his room. He was too exhausted, not to mention mildly nauseated, to eat something. Flopping belly-down onto his bed, he noticed the time on his bed-side digital clock. Almost one in the afternoon. He fished around in his pocket for his phone. There were two missed calls and two texts from Scott, and, strangely, one missed call and a voicemail from Lydia.

_That asshole_ , Stiles thought furiously. At least he noticed I was even gone. Scott picked up on the second ring.

“Dude!” Scott shouted panicked. “I don’t even know what happened last night! I think I had sex with both Allison and Isaac. Like, at the same time- What the fuck, what happened?? You were there! Did we seem really drunk? I remember hanging out with you at the party and then- I don’t know man, it’s all hazy! But then I woke up with Allison and Isaac this morning!” Scott’s breathing was quick and short, probably the beginning of a panic attack. 

Stiles listened incredulously. Did Scott not even notice that he’d left Stiles behind by himself to be kidnapped by some crazy rapist lunatic? He sat up on his bed, nearly shaking with barely contained rage.

“So, you don’t remember anything from last night?” Stiles asked, his calm voice masking extreme irritation.

“Well- I remember you getting naughty with Danny and Danny’s boytoy- also that other boy, he was good-looking, totally your type, Stiles.” Scott said, chuckling. “Damn, you were a shitshow-”

“You left me at the party, Scott!” Stiles screamed into the phone. “You _left_ me and that boy said he’d give me a ride home, but he tried to fuck me instead and I ended up at Derek’s!”

“What?!” Scott exclaimed frantically, suddenly concerned. “Dude, are you okay? Did he hurt you? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry buddy, I don’t even remember leaving the party- I would have never just left you...” Scott sounded miserable.

“I’m fine,” Stiles breathed, his voice breaking. “I can’t believe it. I was wandering through the woods, drunk off my ass, after fighting off this lunatic, while you were fucking two members of our friend group. That’s great.”

“Stiles-” Scott tried to interrupt.

“Scott, I can’t right now. I can’t deal with this, too. Just- handle this one on your own right now. Sorry.” Stiles hung up the phone and turned to bury his face in his pillow. He felt like crying. He sighed heavily and curled up under his covers, willing thoughts away so that he could sleep in peace.

When he woke, it was almost dark outside. His father must have already taken off for his shift at the station. Stiles’s stomach growled loudly and insistently so he dragged himself to the kitchen for sustenance. 

Munching on cold pizza back in his room, Stiles remembered he’s received an unheard voicemail from Lydia- which he promptly went to retrieve.

_“Stiles, it’s Lydia. Um, just give me a call when you get this message. Things got kind of weird tonight, and I saw you leave with that guy...”_ Holy shit, was that concern in Lydia Martin’s voice? For Stiles Stilinski? The message continued. _“Anyway, I’m sure you’re fine, but just give me call when you can... Um, kay bye!”_

Stiles’s lip gave a quick half-smile as he shot Lydia a quick text- _Got your message. Still alive and kickin it. See you on Monday._

Stiles laid back down onto his sheets- God he was so tired, for no apparent reason too, it seemed. Outside, one of neighbors had their window open and was singing, or maybe their radio was on. It was a sweet lilting melody, foreign in its contour, sounding like the tunes his mother used to hum while making dinner and putting Stiles to bed. Stiles let the tune rock him into a hypnotic state of half-sleep. He felt so serene- everything was going to be just fine.

In his mind’s eye he could see the wind ruffling blades of grass that spilt the warm sun rays, wild flowers blooming and wilting as their fleeting existence passed, bright sparks wafting up from crackling fires. He could hear the scampering of woodland critters, the fluttering of bird’s wings, the tinkling of water flowing over creek stones. There, in the center of his dream, a great oak tree, gnarled and massive, it’s great branches reaching towards the moon, sang to Stiles his mother’s old melodies as the wind passed through the gaps between its rustling branches.

 

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Review please! I love constructive feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles continued to pointedly ignore Scott as the boy spent very nearly all of Monday morning scrutinizing Stiles for marks, blemishes, or any behavior indicating that Stiles had been hurt more than he led on. Scott wasn’t what most people would call “book-smart,” but he had a natural keenness about people, a propensity to detect the wounded and an inclination to protect those worthy few. 

Stiles was uncharacteristically subdued this morning, biting incessantly at his fingernails and gazing aimlessly out the windows to the surrounding forested area. A thick fog darkened the morning, settling low among the trees and creeping out towards the school building, promising to envelop it. One could barely see beyond the most forward row of sequoias, their barks colored nearly blood red with the day’s dampness. Even through the window, the scent of ozone, wet bark, and turned earth permeated the air in a heavier-than-usual manner, only barely perceptible to those attuned to such phenomenon. 

Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands over his face as he tried to concentrate on Mr. Harris’s lecture about something something covalent bonds and everything else Stiles couldn’t give less of a fuck about if he even tried. Jesus, he’d have to borrow fucks at this point in order to give them. There was such a faint niggling at his conscious- just right there, like a well known mantra at the tip of his tongue. It was just a flash of something akin to deja vu, returning every few minutes. Had he left the front door unlocked? Goddamn. 

First period ended with absolutely jack shit recorded in Stiles’s chemistry notebook. He journeyed lackadaisically towards his locker with Scott loyally in tow. Returning his notebook to his locker, he swallowed once and rested his forehead against the locker door in exasperation.

“What, Scott?” he nearly barked out. He rolled his head to glance tiredly at his best friend.

“Dude,” Scott whispered. “What’s up with you? This is weird, right?”

The _fuck_ was Scott talking about? Stiles lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, arms out as if to convey that very thought.

“Bro. Like, everyone has been kind of looking at you. Not all the time, but like, remember that scene in The Wickerman? Stiles?”

Stiles glanced around. He met several pairs of eyes, all quickly averting as they passed by in the hallway. That was... kind of weird. It wasn’t explicit, directed, unwavering attention, just a sudden noticing of Stiles, it seemed. Still, more attention than Stiles was used to during the brief stretches when he wasn’t playing the part of public fool.

“...dude, you know, like the remake? With the bees and shit? Hey, dude.” Scott’s voice filtered back in. 

“Did something else happen at the party that you’re not telling me? I told you I was sorry, bro! Let me help, please...” Scott sounded so pathetic and miserable and Stiles was beginning to feel like a total dickwad.

“I already told you everything that happened, I-” Stiles was interrupted as Isaac suddenly leaned down deliberately on the locker next to Stiles’s. His arms were crossed, expression an immaculate mixture of practiced apathy, no doubt inherited from Derek, and patronizing mockery, plus tousled hair and tediously arranged draping scarf for extra measure. Goddamn it, seriously, what high schoolers looked like this Stiles griped internally. 

“Hey buddy,” the blond announced off-handedly, casual condescension dripping from every uttered syllable, it seemed to Stiles. Stiles didn’t bother to hide either his exaggerated eye-roll or scoffing response. “So what were you saying you did this weekend?” Isaac continued.

Stiles waved a hand dismissively at the boy. “Well, definitely not my best friend. Or my best friend’s girlfriend. I mean really, that would be some fucked shit right there seeing as-”

“Stiles!” Isaac barked and moved to bracket Stiles with his arms against the lockers.

“Jesus, dude,” Scott groaned with his hand over his eyes.

“Oh, what? We’re just all gonna cast aspersions about the events of my weekend? Because god knows, neither of you seemed to care much about that, Saturday night.”

Isaac grasped Stiles’s jaw, tilting inwards, and for a moment, Stiles was terrified the boy might kiss him. Instead, without contact, Isaac seemed to gently sniff the region on Stiles’s body where his jaw met his neck. Stiles pushed him away immediately, which, as predicted, had no effect on Isaac’s were-enforced torso. The blond pulled back and inspected him with an expression of genuine confusion, but mostly palpable irritation. Stiles glanced at Scott, who was busy watching Isaac with a concerned and impatient face. Isaac turned to Scott with wide, incredulous eyes. The two were confirming something via a level of non-verbal communication that made Stiles flush with anger and petty envy. Holy shit, nope.

“Kay, this is all great, I’ll just leave you two to it, then,” Stiles bit out with false cheer. But Isaac held his steadfast against the locker.

“What. Happened. This weekend.” Isaacs eyes glowed in warning.

“Christ, fucking werewolves. Whatever, practically nothing. There was some dancing, attempted assault, a little freak earthquake, and then I fell, swooning, into the arms of our resident alpha in fucking leather. God damn romantic, if you ask me.” Stiles quipped. 

“Earthquake?” Isaac repeated.

“Jesus, Stiles. This is serious. Something is off and we need to find this fucker before anyone else gets hurt!” Scott practically screeched. They were drawing stares from passing students.

“What the fuck, why? Oh goddamn, Scott. Every time we get involved and try to help, literally everything goes to shit. I’m not even hurt, why do we need to track down this guy? Seriously, just this once, let’s let it go.” Stiles was nearly whining by the end.

“No, you don’t- agh. Stiles,” Scott dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s something off with you. You... smell different.”

Stiles began to feel weary. How many times had he heard that in the past few days?

“Different like how?” He asked, suspiciously.

Scott visibly struggled for the words. “Like, like earth or bark or rain, _something_. Something that makes my wolf go wild. It makes me want to run.” 

Well, fantastic. That sounded super helpful, especially since it was already a perpetual struggle to keep Scott, the newbie were, under control every full moon.

“That’s great.” Stiles drawled. “I love it, no really.”

Isaac interrupted with a bewildered expression, phone in hand. 

“Derek just texted me. Body in the woods.”

The three boys spent no more than four seconds glancing meaningfully between each other before Stiles was whipping out his car keys with unrestrained gusto.

“Let’s go, boys!” He announced and almost ran out the front exit of the school right as the bell announced the beginning of second period.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The was a gnarled vine wrapped snuggly around the skewed neck of the body, hanging taught from a high branch of the lone oak. Occasional gusts of wind made the branch groan and sway with the added weight. The body hung limply, it’s dirty, swollen feet grazing the ground. 

Derek was already at the scene when Stiles, Scott, and Isaac arrived. He was glaring accusingly at the suspended corpse from a distance, understandably irked by its mere presence and, moreover, its god-awful stench. The dampness of the fog kept the smell contained within its humidity, concentrating it as the group approached the body. A one particular step, the three boys reared back, gagging and heaving as their eyes became teary.

“Oh my god” Scott muttered hoarsely. 

“That is seriously the nastiest thing I’ve ever smelled.” Stiles gasped as he tugged the neckline of his shirt over his nose. Isaac looked like he wanted to cry.

“I’ve been around the surrounding woods and I can’t detect anything,” Derek announced, gruffly. He was leaning against an adjacent tree, arms crossed, with one knee up, foot resting on the bark. 

“Suicide?” Isaac suggested weakly.

Stiles took a closer look at the body, albeit keeping his distance. It was male. Short but tangled and matted dark hair hung from its downturned head, obscuring the face. The adorning dark shirt and jeans were ripped and muddy, sticking in various places to the decaying flesh underneath with dried blood. Stiles felt a sudden sinking within him. That outfit was awfully familiar.

“I don’t see how this fucker could have done it. Look, the vine is fastened from that high branch- there aren’t even lower branches around he could have jumped from.” 

It was true. The thick, mossy vine swung heavily from a branch up through the fog. It was looped around the massive trunk of the tree, as if it had grow there naturally for years, creeping upwards towards the sun. All in all, it just looked... natural, Stiles thought. Not like an artifact of human desecration. 

Stiles kicked around the underbrush until he found what he was looking for: a thin branch- sturdy but lengthy. With one slightly trembling arm, he used the tip of the twig to part the hair from the body’s face. Goddamn yep, just how his life usually went.

“Dude.” Scott exhaled with no small amount of shock.

“Holy- is that that guy? From the party, the one you were-uh- with, Stiles?” Isaac asked.

Its eyes were opaque and flat, the once attractive face bloated and purple. Stiles all but threw down the branch so that he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer.

“..Stiles?” It was Derek’s voice, deep and irritated, but with the barest hint of tender concern.

Stiles cleared his throat once, twice, then swallowed down rising panic.

“Uh, yeah...” He turned to the group.

Scott was regarding him with wide, scared eyes, Isaac with a narrowed and suspicious glare, and Derek with a thoughtful frown.

“Wha- oh _come on_ , I told you, Scott. He got back in his car and drove away! How was I supposed to know this would happen?” Stiles yelled out.

“You stupid idiot, does this have anything to do with you showing up drunk Saturday night? What the fuck did you do?” Derek demanded.

Stiles made a show of raising his hands and looking personally affronted. 

“Here’s the thing-”

“I told you to stay out of this kind of shit, Stiles!” Derek continued. “If you would listen, just once-”

“Are you even gonna let me speak? You are so rude sometimes, it’s a wonder any girl-”

“Stiles!” Derek barked.

“Okay!” Stiles screeched back. “So rude...” He was about to continue, but the glowering on Derek’s face strongly suggested that he acquiesce the older were.

“Kay, fine. I got into this kid’s car cause I thought he was gonna drive me home-”

Derek opened his mouth with a scoff, no doubt about to berate Stiles for his idiocy.

“-Let me finish!” Stiles asserted without pause. “But he obviously had other plans. I wasn’t really about drunken date rape, so I got out of the car. Then he tripped on some boulders or some shit and got back in his car and got the fuck outta dodge. There.” Stiles finished flippantly. 

Derek was unimpressed.

“...He tripped on some rocks and then got back in the car.”

“I dunno, they just kind of popped out of the ground like spring daisies, Derek. Whatever. ” Stiles thought it was strange too, but something within him really did not want to acknowledge it.

Derek sighed long-sufferingly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. No one said anything for a while. Stiles fidgeted and hummed in the tense silence, broken intermittently by the creaking of the body rotating on its axis. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, you guys wanna know what’s funny?”

“No.” Came the simultaneous and unanimous reply.

“All of you, shut the fuck up and get out of here. I can hear sirens in the distance. I’ll be by later.” Derek grunted out. 

“Testy, testy, Mr. Big and Bad,” Stiles teased as he swung into his Jeep. Scott claimed shotgun seat while Isaac piled into the back. Derek shot him a wrathful glare. 

“Do not. Get involved. Stiles. I’m serious, you’re already causing more trouble than you’re worth. Jesus, you have no idea.”

Stiles scoffed and tried not to let his face betray his bruised feelings. 

“Don’t be absurd. I’ll start researching immediately. Let me know when you’re in over your head.” Stiles peeled out towards the main road, leaving a glowering Derek in his wake. It wouldn’t be until later, when the trio arrived just in time for fourth period, that Stiles realized that he had one of his mother’s songs stuck in his head again- second time in as many days. He hadn’t know he could even remember them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I really appreciate constructive feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

The week only got stranger after Monday. The unusually heavy fog remained perpetually, hanging down low into the streets and enveloping the tops of particularly tall buildings. The mist brought with it the pungent scent of underbrush and fresh greenness. The strange weather made Stiles giddy and unable to stay in one place for an extended period. After school he had taken to driving around aimlessly in his Jeep, stopping wherever his whims landed him. He always ended up on the edge of the preserve, staring out into the dense forest with a sort of sparking restlessness. But he knew better than to wander out into those woods on his own. Christ, if he knew anything, he knew that. The unexplainable and the implausible were out there somewhere and with his luck, they’d be right here in Beacon Hills.

Stiles hadn’t heard from Derek since Monday, though Stiles had it on good intel that the alpha was collaborating with Scott and Isaac. He supposed he should be impressed and relieved that the older were didn’t need his help, but instead Stiles just felt a small pang of hurt, for what and why he wasn’t sure. 

His interactions with peers had begun to change, too. On Tuesday, people just seemed to be more aware of Stiles. They talked to him in class, albeit little things- “Can I borrow a pen,” “Did you catch that last thing Finstock said,” “Do you know if we’ll be tested on this?”- and so on. There were friendly smiles and waves in the hallway and invites to parties of mere acquaintances. Harris hadn’t even snarked at him yet this week. It wasn’t so much attention as to set off alarms in Stiles head, it was just- awesome. It was nice to have so much positive attention, especially since he wasn’t exactly used to people wanting him around. And it seemed that the happier he felt, the more people noticed him. Was this the key? Could he really control his social status just by appearing more inviting and sociable? 

But then, this weird thing happened on Wednesday morning. Stiles was in the restroom washing his hands when he caught his own face in the mirror. He leaned closer to inspect the reflection. There was something different about his own image- nothing he could put a finger on. All the features were still there and in the right place but... There was a sort of- brightness? Not like a radioactive glowing, but a subtle, soft radiance from his clear skin. Nothing super striking, Stiles was probably the only one who caught it since he saw his own face in the mirror on the daily. 

Stiles leaned back from the mirror and tried on different facial expressions. A bright, wide smile. An quirked eyebrow with a clever smirk. Half lidded eyes and a bitten lip. Stiles thought he looked particularly good like this. He tilted his head to one side and ran his hand over the length of his neck. He parted his lips ever so slightly. Stiles had never thought himself a good-looking kid, but he thought he was rather attractive when playing coy like this. He winked at himself in the mirror and was about to make to leave the bathroom.

Except, holy shit, there were another pair of eyes looking at him in the mirror. Stiles turned around. It was some senior boy, possibly on the soccer team. Stiles flushed with embarrassment. How had he not noticed another person in the room? Had he noticed Stiles practically flirting with himself in the mirror? The other boy was just.. staring at him. Almost... hungrily? There was an energy in the room that Stiles had never experienced before. Without conscious thought, a new sensation overtook Stiles. 

He bit his bottom lip and let his gaze drop to the floor, playing coyly embarrassed. Slowly, he looked up the length of the senior boy, finally meeting his eyes with a shy half smile. This seemed to snap the other boy out of his reverie. The boy blinked once, cleared his throat, and adjusted his stance. Interesting. Stiles tried something else. 

“Hey.” It was breathy and raspy. “I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

The older boy seemed to come to himself and chuckled.

“That’s alright. I was just enjoying the show.” He responded gruffly. Stiles laughed softly.

“Thanks, I try.”

The boy began to move towards Stiles with deliberate intent. Stiles’s heartbeat sped up and he backed into the sink counter- he hadn’t expected the other to react physically. The boy seemed to picked up on Stiles’s apprehension and slowed up. He pressed himself slowly against Stiles’s body, warm and solid. The edge of the counter dug into Stiles’s back. He bit at Stiles’s bottom lip once, then proceeded to practically devour his neck. Stiles gasped out sharply and curled one hand around the boy’s neck, the other sliding up under his shirt. 

Suddenly they were moving. Stiles felt himself pushed roughly into a bathroom stall and shortly thereafter pinned to the side of it. The boy was thrusting wildly against Stiles’s hips without finesse. Fuck, he was really hard. He abruptly pulled away and shoved Stiles around that he was facing the wall. Stiles had a sudden recollection of Saturday night, being trapped in the car with that dead stranger, and began to panic. However, the boy made no attempt to remove Stiles’s pants, and instead proceeded to grind his in hard on into Stiles’s ass with rough, jerking rotations. Stiles thrust back rhythmically, gasping in desperation to come to his own release. Stiles came with a choked out mewl. The boy behind him stilled and shuddered twice, breathing heavily as he stepped back from Stiles’s body. Holy shit, they had both just come in their pants.

Stiles pushed himself shakily from the stall wall and turned to the other boy, chuckling nervously.

“Um. Wow. That just happened.” Stiles berated himself for sounding like an idiot. The other boy was looking at Stiles with an expression of confused bliss. He tried to still his shaking limbs. What the fuck, it had all happened so fast. Still, he was gleeful about someone getting all up on him. He wasn’t used to anyone being this intensely interested in him. 

“So... do you want my number or something...?” Stiles asked hopefully.

The boy’s expression turned nasty. He smirked at Stiles with an incredulously quirked eyebrow as if to say, _“Are you fucking with me right now?”_ Adjusting himself with a pleased expression, he strolled out of the stall and bathroom, practically whistling with self-satisfaction.

Stiles was stunned. He slid down the wall of the stall and felt briefly like crying. Seriously, what the shit just happened?

After that, Stiles began to notice a less-than-savory quality to the attention he had been previously basking in. Smiles twisted into leers, eyes glancing for to long at his body, a forceful, predatory feel to friendly caresses. However, instead of frightening him, they made him angry. They made Stiles want to exert malicious control.

By the time Friday night rolled around, he was just about busting out of his skin. All week he had felt prickly and restless, as if waiting for an opportune moment to shed his own skin and hop downstream into the wind. This was in stark contrast to the manner in which this desire manifested in his body: whenever that particular sensation rolled over him, his movements became slow, languid, deliberate, like a stalking jungle cat. 

He marveled in the way he could draw boy’s attentions to his swinging hips, chin tipped upwards ever so slightly upwards to reveal the pale column of his neck. He bit and sucked at his pursed lips, reddening them and wetting them every so often with a deft tongue. When he spoke, he let his breath carry his voice more often than usual. With boys and girls he found particularly attractive, his voice was a breathless rasp, deep and sensual.

It was an novel trait that Stiles felt he had little control over at any given moment. He remained normal around his well known peers. However, when they weren’t around providing a contextual role for his companionship, Stiles felt himself slipping into this new routine. It was as if the absence of familiar faces, which grounded him in a previously established role, resulted in the emergence of this entirely new faucet of his personality. He felt ravenous for things he had never held a hunger for before: the howling wind, the remoteness of the surrounding forest, the feel of hands claiming his body, pinning it, bringing him to a release that parted him from his own body and set him afloat into the wind racing beneath the branches. This was an entirely new sense of power, and Stiles was unsure how to manage it. Abstractly, Stiles realized this new...ability, for lack of a better word, of his wasn’t normal. But it felt so natural, so easy, he almost couldn’t bring himself to think twice about it. 

Seemingly overnight, Stiles had begun to receive more date requests and sexual offers than he had in his previous seventeen years of existence. Girls tilted their heads back and presented their chests when talking to him. Boys widened their stances and gazed hungrily up and down his body. Stiles was introduced to a multitude of feigned, casual caresses: an arm around his shoulders or waist, the gentle stroke of fingers along his wrist or inner elbow, the upward force of hips pressing against his own during hugs.

Stiles declined each offer politely but firmly. There was an emptiness about this kind of attention, he had discovered. People saw in him their own carnal desires and the promise of bodily fulfillment. People didn’t actually see Stiles. He had swallowed this truth with bitter realization after been unceremoniously used in the men’s restroom on Wednesday morning.

Stiles knew Scott and Isaac and the rest of their friends had picked up on this sudden development in his life. How could they not? Stiles was the talk of the town in the high school hallway- that “Stilinski slut,” my god the number of people claiming they had had him, in the bathroom, the locker room, bent over a teacher’s desk. 

Scott, though completely in the dark, continued to accompany Stiles faithfully from class to class, shooting dangerous glares at potential threats and concerned glances at his best friend. Given the manner in which things had gotten completely out of hand, the entire friend group seemed to understand that no one, especially not Stiles, understood what was going on.

That was why on Friday afternoon, when Lydia sent out a mass text instructing everyone to meet at Derek’s in order to “start figuring out what in the holy hell was bringing all the boys to Stiles’s yard,” Stiles complied with a defeated sigh and put up little to no fight when Isaac came around to pick Stiles up in Derek’s Camero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I appreciate the feedback and it helps me shape the next chapters!


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